


Empty Halls

by lyingmary



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Rugby John, Teenlock, What ever, ballet!lock, balletlock, i have no idea how to tag this, rugbyjohn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 09:15:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1893567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyingmary/pseuds/lyingmary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>teen john finding sherlock crying in a scarcely used school hallway and sherlock tries to cover up the fact that he was crying but john just talks to him softly and comforts him with a hug reassuring him that whatever the bullies said isn’t true at all -tumblr user daydraws</p><p>Ballet!lock coming to watch Rugby!john at practice, but he isn’t very good at hiding that he is staring so John’s teammates try to warn him that there’s the “nerdy dancer boy trying to check him out” and John just laughs because the nerdy dancer boy is his boyfriend :)))))))) - tumblr user beeslock. (That was my old account... I no longer use it, but feel free to ask for my new url)</p><p>[][][][]</p><p>I've been meaning to do a balletlock/rugbyjohn fic and figured these two stories could mesh nicely. </p><p> </p><p>The first chapter can be read as a stand alone and is rated General Audiences, but the next two chapters are rated Mature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meetings

Every school had that one hallway no one went down. Whether it was just out of the way or it was dirty or hidden, you could count on that fact. John Watson was lucky enough to have the hidden hallway that wasn't dirty or crawling with bugs. It was his own private escape. 

Between 5th and 6th period John would slip down to his hallway. Sometimes it was to get a break from the massive amounts of work. Less often he snuck away for a cigarette. He didn't smoke much because he was studying to be a doctor and knew the dangers, but school can be a tad stressful. 

Today he planned on grabbing a short puff. His rugby teammates have been a bit overwhelming, for lack of better words. With the new year they got a few new kids. They were all very good, but too rude and pompous for his liking. Rugby had always been the king of the sports in his school. All the kids looked up to them and John felt like the new kids were taking advantage of that. John was popular, but never bullied anyone like the other boys. 

The loud metal clanging of the heavy door reverberates down the hall as John throws it open. He pulls his bag around to his front and takes out his lighter and cigarette. The serial flicks of the lighter sounds louder because of silence. 

"Damn it" John whispers and fiddles with the contraption. 

Finally, the spark catches and John smiles. With the first inhale of his cigarette he moans. Smoke seeps out his nose while he hums. The nicotine settling him. A few more whiffs and he goes to stub out the burning end, but as John goes to tap it off he hears something. 

At first John isn't sure he actually heard something. His eyebrow pull in tightly and he tilts his head. 

Oh god... He was right. That was definitely a small sniffle. 

John flings his bag over his shoulder and trots down toward the sound. As he gets closer he can hear faint whimpering. He picks up his speed. 

John almost passes him. In a crook between two file cabinets a lanky boy with riotous hair is curled up and crying. John throws down his bag and then drops to the floor. The boy's head snaps up. He quickly dries his eyes and puts on a steely face.

"Hey. Are you okay, mate?" John asks.

"Fine. I'm always fine."

"It didn't seem that way"

"Well, then you are dumber than you look."

"Oi! Where do you get off saying that. You don't know me."

"John Watson. Rugby captain. Leader of the boys who make my life a living hell." 

Suddenly, John's heart plummets. He can't believe anyone could ever feel that way about him. He tried so hard to distance himself for the other rugby players, but he still feels guilty.

"Hey. Look, I know that my teammates are dicks, but don't listen to them. I promise what ever they said was untrue. I've tried to say something to them, but you know..."

"The problem is... The aren't lying." The boy finally looks up at John. The first thing John notices is his arresting eyes. Then he notices the cuts and bruise all over the boys face. 

"Oh my god. You need to see the nurse."

"No, I'm quite all right." The boy tried to stand, but falls. John's arms shoot out to catch him. The boy stands there in John's arm for a moment before shaking him off. 

"Well, then at least let me clean them off. I have alcohol wipes and plasters." John reaches to pull them from his bag. The boy just stares at him with curious eyes. He watches John's hands move fast and efficiently over the cuts. Most importantly, he feels John's thumb pass slowly over his lip as John swipes the blood off. 

They both swallow before John speaks up. 

"So, uh, what did they say?" A pause. "I mean, you don't have to answer." 

"No, it's fine. Among other things they called me "the dancing poofter."

"I'm so sorry. That's awful." John gently places a plaster over a still bleeding wound and the boy hisses in pain. John whispers an apology again.

"It's not awful. Like I said earlier, it's true."

"That doesn't mean it not hurtful. It's about how they say it, you know? Being a dancer is an insult... At least, I don't think. Also, being a dancer doesn't mean you're a "poofter" or however they say it." John had out away his supplies now, but remained crouched next to the boy.

"That's true, too." The boy's voice barely registers. 

"Well, liking men doesn't warrant this kind of bullying. You should tell the teachers or someone. This isn't something they should get away with." 

The boy seemed to be a deer caught in headlights. As if he was completely side swept by John acceptance. John just giggles and stands up. He extends an arm out the boy. 

After they are both standing, the boy nods in thanks. John smiles and shakes his hand. John reminds him to tell the teacher and the boy offers no promises. They head opposite ways down the hall, but before John gets to the end he stops. He grabs a pen and chases the boy down the hall. 

"Wait!" John reaches out to grasp his shoulder. The boy spins around with a confused look on his face. "Um, I forgot to give you something."

"What could that possibly be?"

"My number." John gives him his cheesiest smile and the boy laughs. Joh quickly scribbles out the digit on the boy's forearm. 

"I will consider texting you." 

"You better. You owe me."

"How so?" The boy looks affronted.

"I cleaned you up. Plus, you know everything about me and I don't even know your name."

"Sherlock Holmes."


	2. John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After getting together, John's a bit distracted by Sherlock.

Cleats plowed the dirt as a dozen or so grimy teenagers wrestled and fought for the ball. John felt exhilarated. The pounding of his heart, the panting of his teammates, the dripping sweat, and the bruises brought forth the primal and base proof of life. He could clock every fast tick of the heart and every heaving breath of lungs and it was magnificent. The feeling of throwing another man over your shoulder had John stuck between the man he is and some devolved beast. It was like being freed of all the falseness and the acting in the world. Just simplicity.

 

[][][]

 

John doesn't notice him at first. The beginning of the practice goes along much like the rest. They cover a few blocking techniques, work on passing, and a couple foot speed exercises, but just as the rugby team start setting up for a scrimmage John turns his head. Sun glows from Sherlock's pale skin and his body is wrapped in his tight ballet pants. John's throat constricts.

 

 

**_John presses Sherlock against the wall. Their lips lock and Sherlock's leg begins to rise up John's thigh. He grinds up into Sherlock's hips and pants. Sherlock wrapped his legs around John's waist gracefully. John's hand falls to Sherlock's lower back as he pulls Sherlock closer. Closer. Closer will never be enough. With rough tugs John makes Sherlock meet each of his sharp thrusts. He can feel Sherlock's heart beat as he rests his face in Sherlock's neck._ **

 

Someone tosses a ball to John and laughs when the ball falls lamely in front of him. John quickly shakes his head before joining the others at the line up. He calls out orders and makes the plays. John's head begins to sink into the game. The primal beast is back and he is dominating until John catches a glimpse of Sherlock smirking.

 

_**Rough hands rip apart the buttons on Sherlock's iron pressed shirt. He gasps and falls limp against John. Sherlock seeks out sloppy kisses as John pushes harder and harder into his groin. John grunts with every thrust and Sherlock moans in appreciation. Soon, Sherlock's hands glide down from behind John's head, to his neck, and down his chest following the outlines of the hidden muscles toward John's trouser. A click and zip full the empty air before Sherlock digs his hands into John's pants to grasp his back side.** _

 

A firm tackle winds John and he lays there trying to catch some elusive air. One of his teammates offers him a hand up and asks if he's all right. Both of which, John blows off. He throws himself from the ground. Stumbling for a moment John heads to the bench to grab a water bottle. The icy water is a relief against his burning skin. The flush in his cheeks die down and John is ready to head back to the field. A spectacular catch and run down the field causes a few of the viewers to clap... Including Sherlock.

 

_**Clothes are strewn around the room and Sherlock's back is being rubbed raw against the fine Persian rug. John's eyes are closed and Sherlock's legs are thrown over his shoulder. Sherlock's elegant hand rests against John's heart as he pounds in. Sherlock's moans grow louder and louder until John swallows them with a kiss. Wouldn't be quite so intimate if they were to be caught shagging in Sherlock's foyer. A voice moans John's name and scream Sherlock is gone. A few strokes later, John lays atop him with a great sigh.** _

 

With red cheeks and dark eyes John turns back to his team and calls for an early dismissal. The boys think it from the heat, but really it's because John can't function when he thinks about how those strong thighs wrap around him and soft but insistent lips caress his.

"Hey, Watson!" The first voice calls.

John raises his eyebrows and hums.

"Did you see that the dancer boy was here?"

"Yeah, the little freak was staring at you the whole time. You better watch out. He might have a thing for you!” Another voice crows.

The boys laugh and John just frowns.

"Well, I would sure hope so." John shouts and the crowd is silent.

"How's that?" A third voice.

"Seeing as he is my boyfriend... I'd rather like him to look my way."

1\. 2. 3 seconds.

"I didn't think you swung that way, Watson." The second voice.

"That's the danger of assuming. Just like in rugby assumptions can be dangerous. Remember how we always talk about how you need to be able to anticipate a move, but be prepared if something isn't the way you think it is or you'll be shit out if luck? That applies to the real world, too." John tosses the call towards the boy who first spoke up a bit harder than necessary before walking over to Sherlock.

 

[][][]

 

Lanky arms and muscular legs grip John in an inescapable hug. Not to say he'd want to escape. He quite likes it here in bed. A head of dark curls rest against his and they touch nose to nose. John's eyes are close, but Sherlock's are open. Ever the observer. Long gracious fingers trace patterns on to John's stomach. The soft moonlight case shadows the shape of rectangles over the navy blue bedding. John can hear his and Sherlock's heart beat, he can feel their breaths, taste their musk, and knows he's sucked a bruise into Sherlock's collarbone. With a peaceful smile John feels just as freed with Sherlock as he does when playing rugby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have any editing, so please feel free to correct my egregious mistakes.
> 
> The third (and last) chapter will be similar, but focused on Sherlock.


	3. Just an author's note

Hey  
So this is clearly not a a real chapter update, but I just want to say I'm really not in a place where I'm inspired to write. 

Maybe one day I'll update, but don't get excited any time soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Thinking about making this another chapter or two... Any thoughts?
> 
> Edit: enjoy chapter 2 and 3... if I ever write 3.


End file.
